Unfinished Collection
by Von
Summary: Non-crossover ficlets, chapters & ideas that may or may not get fleshed out. Current fandoms include Supernatural, Sailor Moon, Charmed and Transformers.
1. Transformers Pretender

My contribution to the bot!Sam genre.

**Pretender**

"Bumblebee!" Sam yelled, skidding to a halt so fast he over balanced and fell. The Decepticon laid another blow that sounded like tectonic plates colliding on the already-down Autobot. Sam scrambled to his feet, hands scrabbling, slicing open on the ground, and ran back.

Bumblebee saw him coming, his one working optic widening in horror and his damaged body thrashing weakly as his charge and best, human, _fragile_ friend barreled right back into danger.

The Decepticon ignored Sam like the insect it considered him to be, too used to battle to give his downed enemy a chance for one last shot. It growled when Sam took a running leap and landed on his back, disgusted as the human clung and clambered like the simians all humans shared DNA with.

Then Sam reached his neck and, in a very human show of violence, brought his fist back and plunged it forward to strike.

The instinctive, mindless attack born of fear and rage would have been a hell of a lot less effective if, with a familiar scrape of sliding metal and whining energy, Sam's arm hadn't refolded itself into a shining blade of Cybertronian alloy.

Like a needle sliding through skin, Sam's arm slid through the gaps in the Decepticon's armor that no bot's fingers could fit into. His blade-arm slid through wires and tubing, nerves and arteries, until the end of it – curled back and serrated – caught on something and on instinct alone, Sam _twisted_.

The Decepticon screamed, utterly unprepared, utterly fucked. He was already dying before Sam's blade lodged in one of his primary relay circuits and destroyed it, cutting off 80% of his body control. By the time Sam wrestled his blade-arm out and dropped away, the 'con was on his knees, gushing energon, oil and other alien fluids whilst ugly sparks jerked his body around from the inside.

By the time he fell, face-down, he was dead.

Breathing hard and feeling a little like he was coming down from something narcotic, Sam turned to Bumblebee. The yellow bot had turned onto his side and was staring at him in absolute shock. At least he wasn't bleeding/leaking anymore and even as Sam watched, the Autobot's second optic flickered back into unsteady life.

With Bee visibly not about to die, Sam's mind allowed him to take a look down at the hallucination he was suffering.

The blade, extending smoothly from his elbow and streaked with Cybertronian fluids, glimmered smugly up at him.

Sam had just enough time to realise he was hyperventilating before he blacked out.

_Pretender_

_"I don't __**know**__, Bumblebee. As far as I can tell, there's nothing. He's human. If you hadn't provided a copy of your memory file, I wouldn't have believed you for an astrosecond."_

"_I get it, Ratchet, but... he was terrified. What am I supposed to tell him?"_

"_The truth, however unpalatable, would be best."_

"What he said." Sam seconded groggily, blinking awake to the harsh lighting of Ratchet's mech-built med-bay. It was, weirdly, kind of comforting. If he'd woken up in a human hospital, he'd have been waiting for Sector Seven to kick in the door and kidnap him. But there was no way Ratchet would put up with that shit in _his_ med-bay.

There was a short silence before the whirr-click of softly-stepping Cybertronians came towards him, thankfully blocking out the harsh light as they bent over his berth.

"Sam, how are you feeling?" Ratchet asked briskly, scanning him as though he hadn't probably already scanned him in every possible way whilst the human was unconscious.

"Um."

Sam glanced down at his arm, which was innocently pink and fleshy and not at all metal-killer-of-Decepticons-y.

"A little trippy?" He asked hopefully. Maybe Leo had slipped something in his beer, the guy was always going on about how Sam needed to loosen up, even though Sam was practically the poster boy for slacker student.

"I found no foreign agents in your blood." Ratchet shut down that option. "Nor can I detect any chemical imbalances in your brain, although I admit I haven't any prior scans to compare them to and must base my estimation on the inferior information humans have collected.

Sam swallowed. "So," he said, would-be casually. "anything that explains my arm..." He stopped speaking, almost physically unable to say it.

If he said it aloud, that would make it true. That would make it undeniable.

That would make Sam... Not Human.

_**Pretender**_

So, Sam's origins were pretty cliched. My thinking was that the Allspark was way more powerful than some stupid spark-destroying blaze of light. The energy contained in it had to go somewhere. That somewhere was Sam, changing every molecule of his being during those few seconds, without him noticing.

Sam-as-Pretender continued his life, never realising that he was no longer human. Nobody knew. Sam's model was built by the Allspark and is extremely sophisticated when it comes to 'pretending'. Not even Ratchet's medical-grade scanners can see anything non-human.

Most of Sam's system processes run in an artificial subconscious mode and a lot of them are dedicated to replicating Sam's human manner of thinking and feeling and being.

The system will either maintain Sam's appearance as he perceives himself, or will run an aging program based on a human's life cycle. However, with Sam now being aware of his own nature, his systems may belay the aging illusion.

Sam is unable to voluntarily transform or access his own systems due to his own fear and desire to **not** be a Cybertronian. He was born human and he wants to **stay** human. In changing species he suddenly sees everything he knows – all comfort and familiarity and belonging, slipping away to a colder, starker existence as a being trapped in a race perpetually at war. Everything and everyone he knows is doomed to move on without him.

The sort of mental shift necessary to be fully Cybertronian may never _be_ possible. Pretending to be human, even to himself, is as much a survival instinct as the Cybertronians taking alt forms when not in actual battle. If Sam's systems hadn't evaluated the risk and set up the 'secondary OS' in his head, he probably would have gone insane at best or self terminated at worst.

This story never got developed further because I just wanted pretender!Sam who had to continue pretending to be human in order to stay sane, despite knowing differently. I couldn't quite find the end of the story so it's being posted here.


	2. Charmed Valhalla

**Charmed**

Super-short drabble where Leo confronts Chris about his misdeeds. Early in season 6, before anyone knows that Chris is only a half Whitelighter.

I loved the chemistry of Leo and Chris. Leo had good reasons to be pissed and suspicious (although he offered the olive branch more than once) and Chris had all that simmering, mostly-hidden resentment and anger. I figured he'd be even more raw once he was _witness _to how Leo 'let down' his Mom.

_**Confrontation**_

"You put me in Valhalla!" Leo roared. "Do you have _any_ idea what I had to do there? It almost destroyed me!"

Chris turned sharply, true fury shadowing his own eyes.

"Well that's better than you destroying Piper instead!" The Whitelighter yelled back, lips turned down in a furious scowl. "Yeah, I admit, I sent you to Valhalla. But it wasn't for any reason that you might think. It wasn't to get you out of the way. It was to stop you and your _arrogance _from ruining Piper for good!"

Leo blinked, still angry but utterly thrown.

"…What?" He asked incredulously.

Chris opened his mouth to answer, before closing it with a click and looking away, jaw flexing as he reeled himself in.

"Oh no, forget that, Chris. You tell me _right now_ what the **hell** you're talking about."

The younger Whitelighter looked down for a moment, then back up again. His eyes were no longer furious, but they glimmered with barely-veiled disgust.

"After that scene with the Titans.. you took her pain, right?" He asked out of the blue.

Leo nodded silently, face set, waiting for answers.

"And you were gonna slowly feed it back to her." Chris pressed. "Little bits at a time, getting her used to it, so she could still feel that shattering grief and abandonment and agony, but just not go lashing out in blind pain next time, right?"

Leo blanched a little at hearing it described like that.

"That's not.." He started, but Chris cut him off angrily.

"That's not _what_, Leo? That's not what you _meant_ to do? Because if you honestly think that then you're bullshitting yourself as well as me – and your _wife_. Rather than work it out, you were just gonna wave a hand and let her adjust to a miserable life, living only to take care of Wyatt, with just enough visits from you so she would always feel the fresh pain of what she's missing."

By now, Leo was almost slack-jawed. He'd had his doubts about Christopher several times, but the sheer, protective anger he was vibrating with now went a long way to prove himself.

"You don't _get_ to deny it, Leo." Chris dropped his voice a little, struggling to get himself under control. "Because I've seen it happen. I know what kind of a woman Piper turns out to be. Brave, but broken. Ruined inside, even as she keeps strong on the outside for Wyatt and her sisters."

"So, what?" Leo asked, his own voice barely audible. "You sent me away to that _place_ because.."

"Because I figured a Piper with no pain over you, was the best kind of Piper there could be. You aren't worth the agony you caused her and seeing as you were almost always absent in the future _anyway_, I figured you may as well stay that way. In a place where you couldn't hurt her any more."

The second he finished talking, the younger Whitelighter vanished in a stream of orbs.

Leo didn't even try to follow the trail.

**End**

Man, Chris is such a casual truth-twister, I don't think he even notices it anymore.


	3. Sailor Moon Alternate Future

**Sailor Moon**

Super old ficlet. I'd like to finish this one day, when I have time to sit through the final season and iron out the details.

Bottom line, the 'romance' between Usagi and Mamoru has felt increasingly forced since the first season. I wanted to write a story where they broke up because they simply outgrew eachother.

I also thought Crystal Tokyo seemed like a stunted, nightmarish future compared to the realm that once existed. Even the canon information about it seemed to hint that it wasn't quite right. The world experienced a freeze that lasted for around 1000 years? Usagi and Mamoru just took the throne, with no resistance from any survivors or any nations? Usagi herself was just woken up and took the job, no form of training or educating apparently necessary. Usagi never left her castle, attempted to enforce purification on all her people (those that didn't want it having no choice but to leave) and otherwise just bummed around until the point when they were attacked.

I wanted a future with a little more of Usagi's trademark energy. Seiya was a god-send, more for the potential he/she represented than his/her character itself. Mamoru was quietly done away with and Usagi found she could be strong on her own. I'm even pretty sure I saw a smidgeon of maturity once or twice that season! :)

I intend to write this story some day, but for now the 'core drabble' can live here.

Warning for hybrid and flowery language. I grew up on the Japanese version - anime, manga and fandom - so using certain English words just sounds wrong in my head.

**Reflection**

"What you feel for Mamoru... is that love?"

"I love him. If you were me, you'd know that."

The white-haired, ageless woman smiled.

"You are made of love. Born from it, wreathed in it. It is in you to love the universe. The power of all Sailor Senshi spring from your love for them - souls loved so dearly that your power became their own."

Usagi hesitated. She had heard talk like this before. Uranus and Neptune seemed convinced that she was some sort of holy being and Saturn treated her with reverence far beyond that of subject to future queen.

It was beyond unnerving, though, to be told that she was somehow something _more_. Something more like a deity than a person.

"Is that why Mamoru can transform? Become Tuxedo Kamen?"

The woman's smile became sad and affectionate all at once. "No." She refuted. "His power could never be compared to a senshi's - a guardian's. His power is his own, born to him as prince of a vibrant world. If ever he left his planet, his power would wane."

Usagi frowned. "But, I love him." She asserted. "That fact does not change."

"You love him." The woman conceded. "You love him as you love the fresh Spring day, the lovers kissing in a field of flowers. He was your first love and you will always love him as such... but he is not your _only_ love. He is certainly not your last."

"I don't believe you." Usagi whispered tightly. The two of them had been through so much together.

Too much, for it to have all been for nothing.

The woman stepped forwards, gentle hands closing over her shoulders. The expression of kind understanding made her look more like her long-dead mother, Queen Serenity of the Moon, than her supposed future self.

"You died so young. Your first love was special and when you and he died together... it left a mark on both your souls - a mark that resonates when you are close. But neither of you are the true love of the other. Usagi... I know it is frightening to consider your life without him. But try to think of _his_ life without the one truly meant for _him_. Try to remember the sheer amount of effort, of struggle it has taken, to _keep_ the relationship you have with him. Through no fault of either of you, you both constantly strive to keep something unchanged, when change is the nature of the universe."

Usagi could not help but try, faced with eyes of such undeniable compassion.

Despite herself, a vision of Crystal Tokyo flashed before her eyes.

Mamoru, a pale version of himself - the vibrancy of Earth washed out by the sheer power of his wife and Queen. His hand upon her wrist - possessive, guarding, desperate.

Their child, Chibi Usa, who bore no physical resemblance to her mother at all.

"Ah! You suspected already?" The woman seemed surprised.

Usagi shook her head sharply. "No! Of course not! What a horrible thing to think!" She cried.

The woman tilted her head in gentle reproof.

Usagi closed her eyes and looked away.

"She doesn't have the royal colouring." She whispered, as though ashamed of her own words. Her memory of her past life was spotty at best, but she _knew_ some things the way she knew her own name.

"And her transformation locket is based upon the power of love alone and not the Moon."

She looked up sharply.

"But the ginzuishou! She must be my daughter or else it wouldn't..."

"Wouldn't accept her?" The woman asked. "Like when she tried to take it in the future and it vanished from her hands?"

Usagi looked uncertain for only a moment.

"We both used it against the Wiseman." She asserted, eyes narrowing.

"With your permission." The woman countered. "It was only when you yourself believed her to be your daughter - and thus to have the right to the silver crystal's power - that it permitted her to use it."

Usagi swallowed. "Then if she is not mine.." She asked quietly.

The woman shook her head. "That is a matter for another time." She answered. "To know now would do more harm than is wise. Suffice to know, if you choose to change the future, she will continue to exist. Your other self chose to adopt her, at the bequest of a desperate woman. Your love for the universe allowed you to make the choice and extend the love of a mother to the child. Chibi Usa's transformation was powered by the love of the Moon Queen for her adopted daughter and the desire to keep her safe."

Usagi closed her eyes. Belief was getting harder to deny.

"She bears... the crescent moon." She mumbled.

The woman chuckled lightly. "As do Luna, Artemis, Diana... As do all those bound to the royal family. A mark of regard and protection."

"Why are you telling me this?" Usagi asked plaintively. "The future wasn't so terrible, was it? Peace, Crystal Tokyo..."

The woman's face remained serene, even as her eyes emptied of emotion.

"I'm telling you this because the future was not terrible, but stifled. Frozen. Tokyo became a crystal crypt. A beautiful, timeless throne to the light of the universe that slowly faded before the oncoming darkness."

"Then why would Pluto allow it to happen?" Usagi demanded.

"Sailor Pluto is the guardian of the time gates." The woman explained patiently. "Her duty is to protect from outside manipulation, not change the fates as she sees fit. Only one vow takes precedence, and that is her vow to the light of the universe. Only in the protection of that light - of you - may she step away from the gates and fight those who would dare try to snuff out the gentle light of the moon princess."

Usagi shook her head, but stayed quiet. The more the woman spoke, the more her words sounded familiar... like a lesson heard long ago. She wouldn't pass a test on the subject, but she knew she'd heard it before.

Queen Serenity had been the incarnation of the Moon Goddess. In the thousand years of her reign, she had only ever born one daughter. In the thousand years of her reign, the planets allied with her had only ever bestowed one daughter each with transformational power to protect that moon daughter.

Because they hadn't been protecting the future Queen of the Moon... they'd been protecting...

"Tell me.. what you came here to say." Usagi commanded, finally ready to listen.

The woman clasped her hands gently before her.

"Knowing the future is a terrible thing, Usagi. I came here to ask you to forget it. Live, love, laugh and shine as brightly as you can, for the rest of your life. Do not be afraid to take chances. Look within your heart and listen to what it whispers to you. Do not be constrained by this world or the expectations of the people upon it. You are the light of the universe - _let it feel your warmth_."

"And break up with Mamoru?" Usagi added sceptically.

The woman was silent a moment.

"Let nature take its course." She ameliorated. "Relax your white-knuckled grip on his heart and allow both of you the chance to be unbound by a dictated fate."

"You mean... let him stop loving me?" Usagi asked, her voice trembling.

"He will always love you." The woman assured. "But there are many flavours of love. A husband may not be his."

**End**

So yeah. Hopefully some day this will get written. 


	4. Supernatural Wee Vampire

I love Winchester Vampires. There aren't enough of them.

I've never found any Vampire!Wee!Chesters, so I wrote my own!

Sam gets vamped. Dean – thankful that Sam isn't dead – tries to hide Sam's new status from their father and from other hunters. I think Sam is around... 14? Oh and it was written before we knew that vamps were myths. Oops. 

**Wee!Vamp**

The woman leant in close, her hair – oddly coarse – brushing the side of his face as she sniffed deeply at the junction of his neck and shoulder.

Sam squirmed, The iron-tight grips of the men holding him became painful in response, but it wasn't every day some strange woman started sniffing him up.

She – they – had to be something supernatural. Had to be. But what?

"Hunterrrrsss..." The woman abruptly hissed, drawing back sharply to glower at the gangly teenager. Malevolence roiled in her eyes as she brought one hand forward to trace his skull.

"A baby hunter." She amended, just shy of mocking. "But you stink of others. One in particular..."

Abruptly, she snarled. To Sam's horror, white teeth were hidden behind hundreds of tiny little yellow-white barbs (_fangs, _a distant corner of his mind realised), sinking down out of her gums and extending in a jagged row over her more mundane human set.

"What are you?" Sam breathed, transfixed on the sharp little additions. _They make her mouth look crowded_ he couldn't help but think.

The woman ignored him, closing one cold hand tightly around his throat as she glanced around the room.

"I should kill you here... rip open your throat and paint the room with your blood... leave your corpse wide-eyed and terrified for your family to find." She mused. There was a rumble of eager agreement from the rest of her gang, the men behind Sam tightening their grips yet again, drawing a barely-muffled whimper of pain from the teen.

"But.." The woman continued regretfully. "I have to think of my pack. We've managed to avoid the detection of hunters for too long to loose it now. If we kill you, they'll send up a call to arms and we'll be facing another massacre..."

There was a round of snarls and almost _nervous_ shifting. These creatures feared hunters, not just as lone killers but as a mass of people who would organise to eradicate them.

Shockingly, this didn't make Sam feel any better. Whatever these creatures were, they were a big time threat.

The hand around his neck tightened. Sam drew breath cautiously, fighting against the knee-jerk fright reaction to diminished oxygen supply.

"We'll take you with us." The woman decided. "And hide. If the hunters find us, you will be useful – bargaining, bait, whatever. And if they _don't_..." She trailed off with a wicked, hungry smile. The handful of people behind her actually licked their lips.

"You see, baby hunter..." She crooned, as her grip grew tight enough to seal off his airway completely. Sam's body jerked stiff in reaction, feet scrabbling uselessly, upper body restrained completely. "Teenagers are like junk food. We know they're bad for us but they taste soooo goood..."

Her chuckles followed him down into aching, pulsing unconsciousness.

_Later..._

"Deeeeeeeeeaaaaan!"

Sam's voice was high and broken, unfamiliar fear and pain forging the scream.

Dean, alone, terrified, _murderous_, swung about and kicked in the door behind him.

The vampires in the room didn't even turn at the sound, recognizing his scent as the elder brother of the two siblings they'd stalked, knowing he was alone and not believing for one second that he was a threat.

It took two of them dying before they caught up with _that_ fact.

The rest of the vampires scattered away from Sam's torn-up body, faces smeared with blood – with _Sam's_ blood – and animalistic eyes glowing with rage.

They had _nothing_ on Dean.

With his left hand, Dean withdrew a waxed-paper-wrapped bundle of herbs from his back pocket and tossed it into the fireplace. The intense heat caused the bundle to spew thick gray-green smoke almost instantly.

When their Dad had been tapped by a local hunter to assist in the last remaining vampire 'clean ups' – basically mopping up leftovers of the huge cull hunters had recently finished – John Winchester had wasted no time in picking up as much knowledge the more experienced vampire hunter had. There weren't many omni-hunters like John Winchester had fast become, most tended to find specialties and stick to them. When John found them, however, they did tend to be useful sources of information.

For example, this hunter had shared some lesser-known trade secrets. They'd already known which herbs burnt enabled a human to hide their scent, but now they also knew which herbs would _sicken_ a vampire, which ones would act like mace and burn at their senses on contact.

John Winchester, after faithfully gaining this knowledge, had been sure to arm his children with it when leaving them alone.

Which was going to save their lives _now_.

The effect was rapid. The vampires nearest him cringed and shuddered, looking for all the world as though they were seconds from hurling. Dean took the brief opening gratefully, slicing their heads off and lunging past them to put his back to his little brother, not only shielding him and preventing the vamps from circling him, but also bringing any further attackers within range of the debilitating herbal concoction.

"Hang in there, Sammy." He muttered, not daring to glance down at the red-soaked visage of his little brother. He sensed Sam struggle to get to his knees, and fail.

Between the herbs, Dean's lethal determination and the vampire's own self-preservation, all were beheaded or bolted rather than face their unfairly capable prey.

As he'd been waiting for the moment, Sam began loudly hyperventilating.

Dean turned sharply, alarm and fear prominent.

"No, come on Sammy, not now, ok?"

Sam just looked up at him, eyes wide and scared and pleading as his body shook and strived to survive.

"Dean." He gasped, his breath sounding raw and terrifyingly unreliable. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, joining the smear along his cheek and chin, running down his neck to the prominent bite wound.

Dean lifted his sibling into his arms, eyeing the raw wounds all over his body which _weren't bleeding enough. _

In true gorging fashion, the vamps hadn't gone for neat or even traditional. One large bite had taken a chunk out of Sam's neck and shoulder. Incredibly, the artery didn't seem to be pierced. Most likely they'd wanted Sam to suffer as long as he could before they killed him. There were also bites down both arms, messy wounds sinking into muscle and flesh. One thin wrist looked partially crushed as a mass of needle-sharp teeth had smashed their way through thin bones and ligaments. Blood and ripped clothing pointed at bites in Sammy's torso and abdomen, another one – badly bleeding – high on the inside of his thigh, a brutal mark far too intimate for some filthy vampire bastard.. Dean just hoped the one who'd done it was one of the ones he'd just killed.

"Sammy.." He whispered, barely blinking back tears as the full extent of the damage to his Sammy became horribly clear.

There was no way Sam could survive this. They were in the middle of no-fucking-where, an hour away from a hospital, forty minutes away from the motel Sam'd been attacked in.

And that was ignoring the fact that the vampires could have... Not only would Sam probably die, but then…

"No.." Dean moaned, dropping his head to his brother's chest, tears dripping thick and fast from his closed eyes. One hand lay lightly in Sam's blood-slicked hair, the other pressing fruitlessly against the worst of the bites – the thigh wound – automatically trying to stem the sluggish bleeding. "Oh God, Sammy… don't do this to me, please…"

"De..an.." Dean's head snapped up at that. Sam sounded like he was barely holding on. The lines of pain on his face had lessened, as his life slipped further away from the broken shell containing it.

Sam tried to swallow, face scrunching slightly in effort.

"Sam.. don't try to talk.. okay? You'll be okay, I'll.. I'll get you to a hospital, you just have to hold on.." Dean pleaded, tears spilling down his cheeks without shame, desperate to keep his brother with him.

Sam shook his head, painfully, once.

"No… Dean. You know.. you have.. to.." He took a short, sharp, pained breath. Beside them, the last of the herbs burnt out, leaving a lingering stench in the room.

"Sam, no. No. You can't ask me to do that." Dean's jaw set, angry and grieved and desperate. "I won't. There's no fucking way, man."

There was no way he could raise that bloodied machete to his brother, not even if his brother turned into something else. He'd die first.

Sam opened his mouth, eyes creasing in that familiar little line that spoke of stubbornness and loud arguments with their Dad... And then stopped. The creases smoothed out, as Sam seemed to look at something inside Dean, seemed to see beyond his brother's words for once, to the motives behind them.

"You're right." He whispered. "I'm sorry." He was gasping weakly for breath now, the last desperate actions of a body that knows its dying, but is trying frantically not to.

Dean just watched, crying and helpless, as Sammy's life slipped away from him.

"Ask.. another.. h-hunter.." Sam panted, his voice now barely audible. "Not… Dad.. ok?"

At this, Dean closed his eyes, lifting his brother to his chest and cradling him, holding him tightly.

He understood. John Winchester was strong enough to do it, to end the monster his son might become… but never strong enough to _survive_ doing it. 

Still, Dean couldn't bring himself to promise Sam that. Even just the thought of asking someone – asking _anyone_ – to _kill_ his little brother for him…

"I promise I won't ask Dad." He said lowly, eyes opening, a cold hard light burning inside them.

Sam didn't seem to notice his careful omission, too far gone to really hear much more than his brother's voice, comforting and close in the darkness that was swallowing him whole.

"Love you.. Dean.." He managed, breath stuttering in his lungs, before they stilled completely and Samuel Winchester died, cradled in his brother's arms.

It was only then that Dean Winchester, Hunter and Sam's Protector, gathered up his little brother's cold, limp body and started the long trek back to town.

There was a lot to do.

_Later..._

"Dean! Where are you?"

Dean gazed at his reflection calmly, as his Dad's semi-panicked voice hammered at his ear through the phone.

No doubt his Dad had just gotten back to the motel he'd left his sons in, only to find it trashed and empty of said children.

When Dean had gotten back to town, he'd picked a different motel, checked himself in under an entirely new name and paid in cash. He'd snuck Sam's body into the room, then spent the next four hours warding the room and covering their trails as best he could. He'd even left some deliberately confusing trails should the remaining two vampires decide to track them sooner rather than later.

Then he'd returned to Sam, cleaned and bandaged his wounds – regardless of how pointless that now was – and waited.

"We're ok, Dad." He answered evasively. "Got jumped and had to deal with some locals, but we're alright. I've got us relocated and smoke-screened."

"Is Sam alright?" John demanded. Dean flinched, meeting his own dead gaze in the mirror.

"He's fine, Dad." He said, barely hearing himself speak. "But there's still two left, they got our scent. Found 'em up at the storehouse at the lake. Think you could..?"

"I'll take care of it." His father's firm voice made him shake, relief and furious grief battling for control. He hadn't been 'taking care of it' when Sammy was captured, had he? Nor when Sammy was being bitten, bled, hurt, whilst Dean had had to _run_ the distance to find him, praying the trail he followed was the right one.

Whilst Dean had watched his brother _die_.

Dean blinked, registering that his father had said something else, but he hadn't caught what it was.

"I'd better not say where we are, open line." He answered automatically hoping it was either the correct answer or at least important enough that he'd be assumed to merely be sidestepping the previous question.

"Call me when they're finished." He ended the call abruptly, stabbing at the off button as he heard something stir in the main room.

The phone dropped to the tiles with a crack, its owner already out of the bathroom and at his brother's side.

"Sammy?" Dean asked hopefully, knowledge of what he was doing - of _what_ he was speaking to – of how _stupid_ he was being getting soundly thrashed by the all-consuming desire to just _see Sammy move_, to hear him talk, to have him be alive, no matter what form that life took.

Pale, bloodless lids slid open.

Dark hazel eyes locked onto him, intense and hungry.

Dean swallowed, not needing to force back tears. He'd shed all he had to give already.

"Hey, little brother." He spoke softly, cajolingly. "How're ya feelin'?"

Sam drew in a long, hard breath, his lungs almost audibly straining after their prolonged lack of use.

"Dean." He breathed, even the _name_ sounding hungry.

"Yeah. 'S me." Dean couldn't stop himself from smiling, thankful relief spilling into his expression. "You know, that was your first word before, too…"

Sam blinked.

"You know." Dean clarified, still smiling slightly. "Pre-vampafied."

Sam struggled to raise himself up, stiffening as Dean slid an easy arm around him to help.  
>Dean ignored the chilled body and Sam slowly relaxed as his brother carried on with no apparent attempt to end his life.<p>

Sam blinked again slowly, looking a little groggy. Dean was reminded of his newborn self, when everything had seemed vaguely incomprehensible to his tiny little brother.

Not that he was tiny any more, of course. A rapid series of painful growth spurts had 'little Sammy' almost reaching his brother's height and looked… _had_ looked, to be about to surpass it.

"Hungry, Dean." The new vampire managed.

Dean swallowed tightly. Here it was, moment of truth.

"I know, kiddo." He said gently. "But don't worry, okay? I promised I'd take care of you, and I will. We're gonna have to be careful around Dad. He can't find out, nor any other hunter... but if we're careful, we'll be alright, you know? I'll find food for you, I promise. What with all the fad-cults around, you can buy animal blood at a lot of butchers.. And when we need to, you can drink from me, you know?"

Sam just licked his lips, eyes regaining that scarily intent focus.

"Hungry _now_, Dean." Sam half-whined, half-moaned.

Dean nodded, feeling his hands start to shake a little.

"Ok, Sammy." He whispered, moving to sit next to his little brother. "You need some... take it. It's yours."

For a second, Sam's eyes shot up to meet his and – for the first time – Dean thought he saw something there of _Sammy_, of the Sammy before this, the Sammy that died.

He felt a curl of hope take root in his chest, even as icy cold hands circled his body and pulled his torso down to rest over his brother's lap.

Sam lowered his lead, licking and nuzzling at his big brother's throat, the motion oddly affectionate – almost intimate – for an evil monster in the shape of his brother.

Then row upon row of thin little teeth sunk rough and hard into his throat, slicing right through the tough flesh and receding slightly to allow the blood to gush up into the mouth behind them.

Dean couldn't stop a short cry of pain, but he could and did stifle the rest. Sam's arms were like iron bands, holding him down, one hand tangled in his short hair and wrenching his head back further and further.

"S..am.." He choked, as his vision rapidly dimmed and the blood loss made his body go cold.

He thought he heard a noise, imagined he felt the sharp little teeth slide smoothly out of him, before unconsciousness rose up and pulled him under. 

_Wee!Vamp_

_"Take care of Sammy, Dean."_

_Those had been their Dad's final words, before he left on a two-day hunting trip._

_Dean had obeyed, feeding and making sure his brother bathed himself, before tucking Sammy into bed and obediently reading to him, even though he felt tired and irritable himself._

_Hours later, he'd woken up feeling absolutely horrible, his insides rolling and churning. He knew he was gonna throw up, but he also knew that if he tried to get out of bed to go to the bathroom, he'd just do it right away, on the bedroom floor._

_He groaned, the sound long and miserable. He was a tough kid, who'd taken care of his brother and could soldier through all sorts of pain like... well, a soldier._

_But he couldn't remember feeling like this before. So horribly hot and cold at the same time, so weak and shaky, so horribly horribly __**sick**_**. **_He wanted Dad. He wanted_ _**Mom**__._

_He groaned again, unable to stop himself expressing his pain and fear and sickness in a __stupid, childish kind of keening sound._

_Incredibly, someone answered, even if it wasn't Dad._

_"Dee..?"_

_Sammy. His little brother had woken up at the sounds he'd made, but was still pretty groggy. If he stayed quiet, the kid would probably go back to sleep in seconds.. but dammit all.. he didn't __**want**__ him to go to sleep. He was scared. He was sick. He was lonely. He didn't want to do this alone._

_There was movement behind him and Dean groaned again as the bed shifting beneath him made his stomach step up its threats._

_Gentle, tiny hands touched his shoulder and he had to grit his teeth not to snarl at his little brother to get the hell away from him. He didn't want to be touched!_

_Luckily, with little-brother-intuition or just plain luck, Sam almost immediately got off him and dropped off his side of the bed, to pad sleepily around to Dean's side._

_"Dean? You 'kay?" Sleepy eyes were rapidly getting worried. Damn, he must look horrible._

_"'m sick, Sammy.." Dean moaned pitifully, which was __**not**__ what he'd meant to say at all. Somewhere inside him, he was still the Big Brother trying to do his job and reassure and protect Sam.. but all the rest of him was a frightened, sick little boy who wanted his Mom and Dad but would settle for __**somebody**__ and Sammy was the best somebody there could be._

"_Oh." Sam said simply, slightly chewing on his lip – a habit he and Dad had been trying to get rid of._

_Dean was just trying to find the strength to ask for a bucket or something without spewing half-way through the sentence, when Sam abruptly ran out of the room._

_Groaning again, a little louder, Dean hoped desperately that the kid wasn't digging through the fridge for some juice or something. Sometimes he got the weirdest ideas in his head…_

_Seconds later though, his little brother had staggered back into the room.. with the huge, battered old stew-pot that they'd found under the sink when they rented the place._

_The stew-pot was almost as big as Sam was and his brother was visibly straining to keep a grip on it to stop it from falling to the floor. He could have dragged it behind him, but that seemed to have not occurred to him at all._

_Not that Dean wasn't damned grateful._

_Almost as soon as Sam had dropped the heavy pot onto the floor by the bed, Dean was rolling over and heaving his guts up into it._

_He lost track of the time as he up chucked everything he'd ever eaten, head hanging miserably over the bed and trying not to breathe in his own stench, barely getting a few seconds rest before he was hurling again._

_When he thought he might finally be finished – at least for now – there was something cool and rough and wet brushing his cheek. He raised his head in confusion and was surprised to see Sammy holding out a towel he'd gone and soaked with water._

_Dean used it to wipe his mouth, then spat into the nauseating vomit-filled pot._

_He curled the end of the towel up onto the bed, pressing the other end against his hot face and over his mouth and nose, filtering out the stench._

_A dim shuffling noise caught his attention, but he didn't dare stir and find out what it was._

_Much later, as he lay in a half-dozing state, a thump near him startled him out of it and he turned to see that __**somehow**__ Sammy had dragged the spew-filled pot away, emptied it, done a decent job of rinsing it out and poured some kind of industrial-strength cleaner into it for some reason._

_Like he'd said. Weirdo ideas._

_"It's ok Dean.." Sam whispered, frightened but somehow also reassuring to his __**more**__ frightened older brother. "The cleaning stuff will take the smell away, ok? You can just sleep, and I'll take care of you."_

_Dean closed his eyes, knowing he'd be spewing again soon and desperately not wanting to, but equally thankful that Sam was helping him._

_"Thanks, Sammy." He croaked. "I just want to sleep. I don't wanna be sick." He continued miserably._

_A tiny hand patted his foot gently._

_"I know, Dean." Sam said softly, before disappearing into the house again. Dean belatedly realized that the kitchen light had been turned on. It was kinda nice, to have the darkness broken by a distant light.. just enough to reassure, not enough to be irritating._

_He dozed a bit more, before turning abruptly and throwing up with violent force into the pot again. This time he barely had more than one bout, before the retching became __painfully empty, only a horrible green slime being dragged up with tearing force._

_He felt tears on his face and whimpered. This was somehow even worse. He couldn't stop trying to throw up, even though he had nothing left to give._

_Then Sam was back, his little hands tugging at the still-damp towel, patting at his mouth and face._

_There was a glass of water on the bedside table, with water spilled all around it. Dean took some and gurgled, then spat._

_He still felt shaky and sick, like he might hurl again any second._

_"I put some soda and biscuits on the table too, Dean." Sam whispered to him. "We don't have any ginger ale, but maybe other bubbly drinks will help you feel better, if you sip them. I can get you more water too, if you want that instead. The biscuits are those things Dad eats.. I think they're good, because they soft. It won't hurt when you throw up again and your mouth won't taste so bad. And, and, if you can keep it down it carries the sickness away."_

_Dean wanted to express his sincere and pathetic gratitude, but all he could manage was a grunt of thanks and a weak fumble for the glass of soda for an experimental sip, then a biscuit to nibble reluctantly on._

_Maybe Sam's idea about soaking up the sick-juices had some merit? Couldn't hurt to try, anyway. Right now, he was pretty desperate for anything that would make him feel better, even if only in his head…_

Dean woke with a start, mentally, then struggled with an uncooperative body to wake up physically.

He felt.. heavy. Weak. A little sick.. just like the dream he'd had.

God, that had been a long time ago. At least a decade. When he'd felt better the next morning – still sick, but not spewing every hour – he'd been so happy, so thankful, for Sam's stumbling, basic care. Sam'd been frightened at seeing his big brother so reduced in misery, but had forced that fear aside to take care of him. He'd never been so proud of his little bro, and he'd made damned sure the kid knew it.

Why had he suddenly remembered that night? Was he sick now?

He moved slightly and his neck protested in sharp, hot, angry waves.

Oh. Right.

Vampires. Sam, dying. Sam, waking up.

Sam, feeding.

But.. he, Dean, was still alive. And he was _pretty_ sure he wasn't a vampire. He was damned thirsty, but all he could think of was Mountain Dew, not blood..

"Sammy?" He asked, or rather – _tried_ to ask. The actual sound was gravelly, choked and kept breaking. It was enough, though. There was a whisper of movement, and then Sam's newly paled – and apparently, honestly distraught – face appeared above him.

"Dean." Sam's voice was high-pitched fear and choked with tears. Little brother had been bawling his eyes out, apparently.

"C'mere.." Dean croaked, one arm listing towards his brother. The response had been instinctive, an automatic reaction to Sammy upset.

The fact that he could barely lift his trembling arm because the same little brother had gorged himself on his _blood_ the night before didn't even come into it.

Sam seemed torn, wanting desperately to accept Dean's comfort but terrified to touch him.

"It's ok, Sammy." Dean managed. God, he was so _thirsty_.

That seemed to be enough. Sam burrowed into his big brother's side, the shaking of his body indicating he'd fallen into tears again.

_Wrong kinda water, damnit_. Dean thought hazily. 

**End**

So yeah. Dean and John and Sam continue moving around, Dean trying to keep Sam's non-human status a secret. At first they succeed, but Sam gets restless, his new instincts seeing Dean as _his_ property and his alone - he doesn't take kindly to John Winchester trying to take him away.

Whilst Sam has no particular desire to hurt people – aside from what's needed to feed – his possessiveness over Dean gets increasingly violent, until he finally attacks his father in reaction. Dean freaks out and takes off with Sam, but Sam can't shake the notion that John - best hunter they know - will eventually take Dean away and is unable to resist the urge to change Dean - to **make** him stay forever.

With Dean at his side for good, Sam is happy. Dean is, of course, guilty and relieved. John finds them and is devastated, but unable to kill his children - at least initially. Dean swears that they won't hurt anyone - won't kill anyone. Won't give any hunters a reason to come after them and all John can do is trust Dean's promise.

Dean manages it for a long time, sourcing food for himself and his brother. The two almost have normal lives with Sam enrolled in distance education and both of them hunting on and off. It's all happy times until some other hunters stumble over them, almost killing Dean and inciting Sam to a murderous frenzy.

Or something. Could never quite pin down the right sort of ending - so I'll put it aside here. Maybe one day it'll work out.

Vampires dont go out in daylight because their senses are just too strong. Sunlight burns – their eyes. Everything is too bright. Its the same reason most vamps congregate in small towns and rural areas instead of cities – cities can be too noisy, painfully so.

When Sam and Dean decide to move to a city – precisely because vampires are known to not be able to stand them – they take precautions. Living in the outskirts, away from major highways and train stations (which is also cheaper – would they pay? Or find someone who owns the place and kill them?) and further soundproofing the place from the inside. They leave at night to roam at will


	5. Supernatural Trinity

Another story I'd really like to finish, but probably never will be.

This is set after Dean's deal comes due and is essentially AU from that point on.

**Mother, Father, Brother.**

"Sam? Sam Winchester?"

Sam turned, a knife already in hand hidden behind his body. A woman was coming towards him, looking both hurried and wary. She seemed vaguely familiar, dark hair and dark eyes making his own eyes narrow in suspicion.

Most of the people he knew these days were demons of one kind or another.

Then the streetlight reflected off the pale, skinny arm of the kid being towed behind her.

_Ben. _His mind supplied instantly. _Dean's kid_ echoing the realization a second later.

Then that would make the woman...

"Linda." He stated, more confused than before but only slightly less suspicious.

The woman seemed to sag with relief at the recognition. "Oh thank god! I wasn't sure it was you." She gasped. Now that she was closer, Sam could see the stress lines at her eyes, the slight bagginess that spoke of not enough sleep and a faint sheen of perspiration over it all. She looked stressed and frightened and exhausted. At her side, Ben looked tired and frightened also, but was trying to mask it with a little mini stoic-face. It would almost be cute, if it wasn't for the powerful relief and sheer hope that shone in his eyes.

"Is Dean with you?" Linda asked hopefully.

Ah, that explained it.

Sam felt his own face shut down further, his eyes grow colder. Dispassionately, he watched as the woman before him visibly flinched and clearly began to wonder if she should have ever called his name.

"He.. no." Sam managed. He wasn't nearly dead enough yet not to feel the raw pain of having to actually speak about his brother. He caught Linda's eye, though, and could tell the woman understood almost instantly. Unfortunately, Ben was just as sharp as his Mom. The kid gasped, his attempts at hiding his fear falling away instantly.

Sam frowned at them both. "What happened?" He demanded. They wouldn't be out here, in the dead of night, two states away from home if something hadn't gone horribly wrong – unless they were demons or manifestations of some kind, but his demon senses hadn't so much as twitched yet.

Linda drew in a sharp, desperate breath.

"I don't know." She said shortly, her voice trembling with repressed emotion. "I.. Ben and I.. we were just getting home from school and there were these _people_ in our living room. Just _sitting _there, waiting for us... they wanted Ben."

Sam's eyes sharpened, reading Linda's terror over her son being taken and made a snap decision.

"Get in the car. I'll take you somewhere safer." Sam ordered, already popping open the trunk and grabbing some spare weaponry. Ben didn't waste a second, scrambling for the front seat and his Mom was a step behind him.

Sam slammed the trunk closed just as he heard the passenger door slam shut. Moving quickly to the drivers seat, he got in and started the engine immediately.

"Don't you have seat belts?" Linda asked him. For a moment, Sam was thrown. He blinked at the two passengers, Ben staring up at him from the middle of the bench seat and Linda looking at him with worried eyes. Worried over a _seat belt_.

"I think we've got bigger things to worry about." He finally muttered, gunning the engine and speeding away with a shower of gravel. 

**M F B**_  
><em>

Ben was asleep when they finally stopped at a motel, hours later. Sam was relying heavily on the Impala's reworked protective charms to help them throw off any supernatural style trackers, but had also traveled in a random pattern, taking a great many back roads and avoiding main highways.

Linda stirred from where she had wrapped herself around her son and peered blearily at the neon lights glowing in the pre-dawn light.

"Do you want me to go in?" She asked muzzily. Sam shook his head. "No need." He said shortly. "You just take care of Ben. Stay in the car and only come in when I tell you to."

She nodded, clearly confused, but more than willing to listen to the more experienced person. She took the pump bottle Sam handed her automatically. "Thanks." She murmured

For an instant, there was something that could almost be called humor in the tall man's eyes.

"Don't drink it. It's holy water. Anyone comes to the window, you spray that at them and start screaming for me. You got it?"

Linda blinked at the deadly seriousness in Sam's expression and glanced at the innocent bottle of water in her hands. "Spray. Scream. Got it." She replied. Sam nodded and swung himself out of the car.

The driver's door slammed shut behind him and suddenly all was quiet. Despite their trip having been made in almost total silence, the running engine or perhaps even just Sam's presence had seemed so loud before.

Now, even though she could see the tall hunter stepping silently from room to room, she felt abruptly alone and unprotected. Swallowing tightly, she tried to push the feeling away, concentrating instead on Sam's weird behavior

He seemed to be listening at each door for a moment or two, finally stopping almost six doors down. After a few seconds he put his hand on the doorknob and Linda just had time to wonder if he was planning on breaking in rather than signing in, when the knob turned easily in his hand and the door swung open.

Did he have friends already staying here?

He disappeared inside for a few seconds, before leaving and heading for the car. He caught her eyes and nodded, once.

It was safe.

Sighing, she started to shake Ben lightly awake, just enough to ease him out of the car and walk him towards the room.

Sam was busying himself at the trunk again, then passed by her with two duffles slung over his shoulders. As he waited at the door for them, Linda picked up the pace and wasn't surprised when the door clicked shut the second she cleared the threshold.

She glanced over the room for only a second – long enough to see there was nobody else there – before steering Ben towards the beds. There was one single and one queen and a lifetime of social norms had her steering Ben towards the single – kid gets the smallest bed, adults share the bigger one – before a large hand stopped her.

"You should take the queen. You won't sleep well if he's not in arms reach, I'd bet." Sam said quietly.

For a moment, Linda couldn't speak for the sudden stab of sheer gratitude welling up inside her.  
>They had been afraid and alone and he was a stranger to them, only the barest of connections – the brother of a guy she'd slept with almost a decade ago. But in a terrifying world where she didn't know what to do, how to protect her son, he had stepped up without hesitation and taken care of them.<p>

"Thank you." She whispered tearfully, already turning Ben in the right direction as Sam moved off to do other things.

She got her son settled into bed – pulling off his shoes and jacket and tucking him under the covers – then sat wearily but alert on the side of the bed and waited.

After a few minutes, Sam seemed to be satisfied with whatever he'd done. There were rings of white powder – salt? Before the doors and windows _and_ around the beds. Some little things had been hung or taped to the door and walls. A couple of quick monologues in some quiet dead language and, apparently, they were safe for the night.

That didn't stop her eyes from widening at the gun and knife combo Sam pulled from one bag and placed on the bedside table.

"It's just a precaution." Sam assured her, catching her no-doubt frightened gaze. She nodded dumbly.

"Do you want to take a shower?" Sam asked after a moment of sitting in silence on his own bed. For a moment, she wondered if he'd been searching for words.

"I might just.. wash my face.." She answered faintly. Sam nodded, a little of the inhuman blankness leeching away and replaced with an almost kind expression.

"We'll be safe here tonight." He murmured "Get some rest. You'll feel better in the morning and then we can sort everything out."

She smiled slightly, feeling another surge of almost pathetic thankfulness.

It only took a moment to wet a face flannel with hot water and wash her face and neck, both waking herself up a little and soothing her nervous tension. When she went back to bed and slid under the covers next to her son, she fell asleep almost instantly, reassured by the slow breaths of the large man in the other bed. 

**M F B**

Soft voices drew her slowly from slumber. The blanket over her was scratchy, but warm, so she lingered in the place between sleeping and waking.

"_I don't think she's slept, like, at all in the past three days." _

Ben, her mind identified. His voice was soft and soothing in its calmness. Her child felt safe, she could rest a little longer.

"_What happened, Ben?"_

Sam. So different from his brother. So different, even, from the last time she'd glimpsed him. A man broken by loss.

"_There were people in our house. A little girl, and Mister Fleetwood from school and some other people I don't know. We knew straight away that there was something wrong with them - they had black eyes."_

Her brow furrowed and she burrowed deeper into the blankets. This close to dreaming, the scene was vivid in her mind. Five strangers plus frail Mr Fleetwood and a tiny girl with chestnut curls in a cute little dungaree with pink wellington boots.

And white eyes.

She'd grabbed for the necklace Dean had sent her, cutting her hand on the blade-sharp edges, and rattled off the three short words _'__In nomine Patris' _the letter had insisted she memorised.

Pressure closed around her throat and threw her backwards, just as her hand yanked the pendant from its chain. She'd dropped it, light had flared and the next thing she knew her son was kneeling at her side in the garden, desperately trying to pull her up.

"_Mum did something. Said something. I don't know what. She made them fall down, but she got hurt. I... thought they'd killed her."_

Silence. Linda's eyes slid open, yellow fibers obscuring her vision.

"_She's okay." _

Sam. Stating a fact, nothing gentle about it, but it seemed to be what Ben needed. When he spoke again, his voice was surer - a little louder.

"_Yeah. I think she was just dazed. We got in the car and just got the hell out, y'know? We drove and drove - one time we pulled in for petrol, but I thought I saw a guy with black eyes. I dunno, maybe I was just... anyway, Mom didn't even question it, just hit the gas and got us out of there. That's how come we were walking, when we found you - we ran out of gas."_

"_It was lucky you found me."_

Linda heard the suspicion, the probing quasi accusation. It _was_ lucky. It was _beyond_ lucky. It bordered on divine intervention and more than once that night, she'd fervently thanked God for it.

For Sam.

Ben, for all his intelligence, didn't pick up on it. He just agreed - _"Hell, yeah" _- and moved on.

"_So, um. What-where are we going?"_

She tugged the blanket down, just enough to see Ben fidgeting at the motel's small table. The remains of a McDonald's hotcake breakfast sat next to an unopened bag bearing the same logo. Sam sat across from her son, with no food before him.

The man - the hunter - thought silently for a moment as Ben chewed his lip and watched.

"_I know a guy." _He said finally. _"A hunter. He's managed to survive demons and more for this long. If there's anywhere safe you can hole up for awhile, it's with him."_

"And then what?" Linda blurted, drawing their attention. Ben smiled, saying 'Hi Mom!' but Sam just looked at her, a flicker of something dark in his eyes.

"And then I'll go hunt down the demons who found you. And kill them."

**M F B**

They left not long after. Sam sent Ben to take a shower whilst Linda ate a luke-warm breakfast of McDonalds. Sam spoke quietly, but intensely, asking her for details of what Ben had described.

Linda was as honest as she could be, but she could tell the information wasn't enough. Sam hadn't recognised the pendant she described and the words she'd spoken translated to nothing more exciting than 'In the name of the Father', which was common to blessings but no spells that he knew of. He'd never seen or heard of what amounted to a type of demon stun-grenade and didn't seem convinced that Dean had been the one to send it to her.

He had no answer, though, for her reasonable question of 'if not Dean, then who?' Linda had no other contact with hunters other than the cursed Winchesters.

He also had no idea what they'd wanted Ben for, and that worried them both.

Then Ben exited the bathroom grumbling about no hot water, dressed in the same clothes as the day before and Linda took her turn washing up. Afterward, she managed to smile at her reflection.

She was still scared, but - hearing Ben chatter away to the tallest, most intimidating man she'd ever met - she decided she could handle it.

They weren't alone anymore. They had Sam, now.

**M F B**

So yeah. I've written a dozen scenes spread throughout the story, but cohesion is giving me the finger so it can live here awhile.

The story is about how Sam would have developed, had Ruby not been his only contact after Dean died. It's also a little excursion in Ben identifying Sam as the male role model for once. There's some fun stuff once Dean comes back and the end goal was an unintentional, non-traditional family structure. Because I'm a sucker for happy endings, no matter how much angst goes on in the middle. :)


End file.
